Drowning in this abyss,
I lay down flat after a long thrive.
I sink down deep, I strangely feel alive,
Always into taking those chances,
I admit I was a bit naïve.
The pain numbs all the high,
it numbs all the excite.
It’s intoxicating how alluring this game is,
I slip through the depths more,
Echoes of beeps going dryer;
As it messes with my wires,
My heart is at peace finally, Oh! this ambushed fire.
I feel serene,
I bet this was the only way out of the scene.
I did not run, I escaped
I have no regrets, after all I saw were facades.
The abyss is calm, unlike the tempest of my senses
If these orbs were to grant me a boon,
I’ll wish for conscious’ pulse to stop functioning soon.
Let me drift into nothingness,
I am not demoralized,
After all I always thought of life substantiality as useless.
Without being materialized,
I prefer to just exist 'dimensionless'.
Distances make us cry....
But these distances teach us substantiality and give us the art of sacrifice......
not just now but even more and more times the thought of distances come to your alley to make you bitterly cry.....
even in a dream distances harry......
not the work but The distances make you weary.....
yearn remains but nothing can be done, this is the irony.....
the more you escape from distances, the more you find distances near your alley.....
distances gives us a reason to love harder and creat circumstances where you laugh beside cry.....
Your competence define how much you outstay because distances are odyssey and remains throughout the life and this is the bitter truth of life.
Hands tick in motion but I hear naught
of the onslaught of killing time depicted.
Minutes run past me in tarred darkness
as the visions in my brain are obscured.
Clocks eat away moments of my life.
I admit I'm nearly frightened to death
of those mimed hands whose strokes
stab me with each gasp of breath I take.
Round and around, silent warning given
in gross opposition to the beastly roar,
aped by masses of such foolish people,
oblivious that my plight is also their own.
Reticence gives no relief to assault. I see
my fate's demise, and frightened I shall be
until death's full tariff has set my soul free.
Rhythmic tickings makes no difference to me.
Silence staggers my soul to substantiality.
Blinded by fear of my imminent necrosis,
I cannot traverse those two roving needles,
hellbent on stinging me to my neon grave!
Passage of time is but a travesty of life
in which man has no occasion to amend.
In the end, death haunts us all in silent
whispers; echoes of cruel scheming hands.
==========================
17th of April, 2016
You're bent out of shape
There are holes in those shoes that you can not replace.
Gaunt like the tree branch you rode through the storm.
You release your fount of harsh tones
That will surely repreive your sarcastic charisma.
The angst building a citidel of noiselessness inside
The capital refund of your minds unease
As if all spirit inside of you
Has all but deceased.
You are not the jolting entity
You were made out to be
But I see the preson incognito, beneath the flashing neon
Lights of the discotheque that reigns sovereign over
The other androgynous evening rendezvous'.
Don't shroud yourself in the pseudo substantiality
Of your undeniable accomadations.
For who is the creator?